Jeff Shelby - Wicked Break

He tapped the keys. “Any distinct body art?”

“Swastika above his eyebrow. His partner had WHITE IS RIGHT tattooed on his forehead.”

Famazio chuckled softly. “Superb.”

“His name was Mo. No last name on him, either.”

He tapped the keys a few more times, staring intently at the screen. He leaned back in the chair. “Lonnie Kerrigan. Several assault convictions. Twenty-six years old with a swastika on his head. Sound like him?”

My heart pounded a little faster. “Yeah.”

“It’s a Santee address.” He scribbled it on a piece of paper. “Other guy’s name was Mo?”

“Yes.”

Famazio looked back at the screen. “He’s also in here. Last name Barnes. Done jail time, too. Same address.”

“Not surprised. They seem tight.”

He slid the paper across the desk to me. “Should I even bother warning you about these two? What I’ve got on them indicates that they are two particularly hateful individuals.”

“I’m aware of what they are,” I said, my voice carrying more edge than I had intended.

Famazio stared at me for a moment. “Yes, I guess you are. No warning, then.”

I stood. “Thank you for your help. Again.”

His eyes were probing me, searching. Finally, he got up from behind his desk.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “And I hope it goes well for you.”

“It?” I asked, shoving the piece of paper in my pocket.

“Whatever you are planning for these folks,” Professor Gerald Famazio said. “I hope it goes well for you.”

I was driving back to Mission Beach, trying to ignore the weight of the slip of paper in my pocket, when my cell phone rang.

I didn’t recognize the incoming number. “Hello?”

“Noah, it’s Berk. You in the middle of something?”

“No, I’m just heading home. What’s going on?”

The line buzzed for a moment.

“I think I stepped on your toes.”

“What do you mean?”

“The thing at Liz’s office,” he said. “Something was out of place and I think it was me.”

I felt my cheeks flush, even though we were on the phone. “Well, I, uh…,” I mumbled, not sure what to say and feeling awkward.

“Come on, Noah. It was pretty obvious. I got in the middle of something with you and Liz. I saw it the other night at the bar, too. I didn’t know and I’m sorry, man.”

“Not your fault,” I said. “It’s complicated.”

“Regardless. That’s not my thing,” he said. “And I want to apologize.”

The truth was, I’d been pissed at him. It was petty and it was dumb, but I couldn’t get the picture of him and Liz out of my head. Sometimes I thought like a fifteen-year-old.

I appreciated his apology. “None needed, Mike. Really.”

“Good,” he said. “Now, I’ve got the Pluto stuff you wanted.”

“Anything good?”

“Well, I’m not exactly sure what you’d think is good at this point,” he said. “You got time to come over to my place and take a look?”

“Right now?”

“I’d bring it down to you, but I rolled my ankle playing ball yesterday,” he said, sounding embarrassed. “Stupid lawyer’s league. Anyway, I’m hobbling. We can have a beer and look at the stuff and you can explain to me these complications with Liz.”

“I’m not sure I even know what the complications are,” I said, laughing.

“Then we can pretend.”

I didn’t need the Pluto stuff anymore, but he’d gone through the trouble of pulling it out for me and I was still curious if what Linc had told me about the trust was the truth. I didn’t have anywhere else to be and it would give me time to figure out what to do with the address Famazio had given me. “Okay. You still on Mt. Helix?”

“Yep. You remember how to get here?”

“Yeah. I’m in Mission Valley. I’ll head up there now.”

“Cool,” he said. “See you in a little bit.”

The phone beeped again as soon as I hung up. Carter’s number flashed on the readout.

“Hey,” I said.

“What’s shakin’?” he asked.

“Going up to Berk’s for a beer,” I said. “Wanna join us?”

“Where’s he at?”

“La Mesa. Mt. Helix.”

“Awfully far for a beer.”

Carter subscribed to the theory that there was no life east of I-5.

“It’s not that bad,” I said. “He won’t care. Come up.”

“Give me the address.”

I did.

“Any plans for today that I need to know about?” he asked.

I thought of the address in my pocket. “I’m working on it. You come out to Berk’s, we can figure it out.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said. “If I don’t show, call me when you’re done. Let’s get this over with.”

I hung up, feeling the same way.

Where you live on Mt. Helix dictates your economic worth. The folks at the base of the area were the middle class and the salaries escalated as you worked your way up the mazelike configuration of streets. When Mike had made partner at his firm, he’d moved from his downtown apartment to a ranch house about halfway up the hillside. It had a pool, a game room, and a barely visible view of the ocean if the air was clear enough. He’d worked hard, made a lot of money, and he didn’t mind showing it off.

I pulled up in the crescent-shaped drive and stepped out into the late afternoon air. The sun was starting to slide away into the haze.

He greeted me at the front door.

“That was quicker than I expected,” he said, extending his hand.

We shook. “The benefits of being my own boss. I don’t have to ask for permission to leave the office early.”

He laughed and stepped back. “Come on in.”

“I invited Carter up,” I said, stepping past him. “Hope that was alright.”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure. More the merrier.”

The cathedral ceilings made the house feel twice as large as its actual three thousand square feet. I followed him down the tiled hallway into an expansive circular living room that housed a pool table and a wet bar.

“Beer’s good?” he asked, walking down the couple of steps that led to the sunken bar area backed by a mirrored wall stacked with shelves of expensive liquor.

“Fine. Whatever you got.”

Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the pool and the view to the west. The haze was covering up the ocean and the light was being squeezed out of the day.

Mike pulled two Coronas and a lime out of a small fridge and yanked the tops off the bottles with an opener. He pulled a paring knife from a drawer, split the lime, and stuck a piece in the top of each bottle. He slid one across the bar top to me.

He held his up. “To friends.”

“Absolutely.”

We clinked the bottle necks and drank.

“Noah,” he said, a little uncomfortable. “I meant what I said on the phone. I’m sorry about the thing with Liz.”

“You didn’t know, man,” I said. “Don’t be sorry.”

“Hey,” he said, straightening and putting his hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t know there was something between you guys. If I had, I would never have asked her out.”

I took a drink from the beer. “It’s fine.”

“She called me later after I saw you at her office and politely declined any future offers from me,” he said, smiling. “After your reaction, figured it was too much of a coincidence.”

“Things have been weird between us,” I said, appreciating his willingness to overlook my having been a jerk. “But we’re trying to get it straightened out.”

“Good for you,” he said, raising his bottle.

We each took a drink.

“Why her?” Mike asked.

“Why her what?”